The Animal Court

By S. Faxon

The Animal Court transports you to a country on the verge of collapse.

The people are starving and the king is blind to the threats that surround him. Realizing that he has been blinded by the advisors in his court, the king turns to his brothers for aid, but rivalry among royal blood provokes old hatreds.

Unless Gertrude, the king's advisor, can enact drastic changes, the country she loves will be lost to the animal court.

The Animal Court is a fantasy political and romance novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: No Bad Books Press
• Release date: Dec 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781735726113

S. Faxon

I’m an author and creative warrior. My writing career spans four published books, several short stories, and an emerging comic series. My published novels, The Animal Court and Foreign & Domestic Affairs are about a king and queen’s struggle to maintain power over the country that they love. Foreign & Domestic Affairs was featured in the 54th annual San Diego Public Library’s Local Author Showcase. My collection of horror short stories, Tiny Dreadfuls, is being hailed as a spooky-good time, and the creative-non-fiction, Lost Aboard I co-authored with my writing partner, Theresa Halvorsen, is about San Diego’s historical landmark, Star of India.

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S. Faxon

The Animal Court

First published by No Bad Books Press 2020

Copyright © 2020 by S. Faxon

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

S. Faxon has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Third edition

ISBN: 978-1-7357261-1-3

Editing by Lisa Wolff

Cover art by S. Faxon Productions

Proofreading by Theresa Halvorsen

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

Publisher Logo

For my grandma Faxon and my Salvatore.

Thank you for believing in me.

Contents

Acknowledgement

I. THE ANIMAL COURT

1. A Good Day

2. The Prince

3. Gertrude and the King

4. The Animal Court

5. Against the Grain

6. Rain

7. In the Tearoom

8. Interviews with the King

9. The Bloody Prime

10. Accidentally Seen

11. The Ball

12. Balconies

13. Meetings in the Night

14. The Fountain

15. The Council

16. Exodus

17. The Toll

18. Her Mother’s Garden

19. Sensing Summer’s End

20. Unexpected Company

21. Stitches

22. The Apothecary

23. Healing

24. A Look Back

25. A Glimpse Forward

26. Desperate Men

27. From the Ashes

28. Mother’s Love

29. Loose Ends

30. Word from Maltoro

31. Departure

32. Skeletons

33. The Streets of Maltoro

34. The Wedding

35. A Flash of Silver

36. A Red Night

37. Dust of a Red Dawn

38. The King and Queen

39. Following the Fall

Foreign & Domestic Affairs

About the Author

Also by S. Faxon

Acknowledgement

This book took twelve years to reach this point. I started writing it in high school, received a series of bad advice, then published it originally in my early twenties. The book underwent the changing of the publishing guard during my mid-twenties when I almost lost hope on it, but, thanks to the incredible community that now surrounds me, The Animal Court is finally at the stage where it was always meant to be.

The drive behind the reboot of this book and ultimately my writing career came when a dear friend of mine asked me on the 3rd of July if she could download The Animal Court to her tablet to read on the fourth. In that moment, it dawned on me that no, she couldn’t because it wasn’t done. And it wasn’t done because I’m an indie author and if I don’t do it, it’ll never get done. Since that day, I have been on a writing marathon.

The evolution in my writing and marketing capabilities that I have undergone in the year that followed has been astronomical. I popped that ebook up, published the sequel, Foreign & Domestic Affairs, wrote the draft of my next fantasy novel, The Blue Dragon Society, wrote a half dozen short stories and had many of those published, started writing a paranormal thriller, and, best of all, have met so many incredible authors and creatives along the way.

This book would not have been possible without the community that surrounds me. My incredible editor, Lisa Wolff, was able to run through this project and leave wonderful editorial comments. But, without the comments from my dear friend and fellow author, Theresa Halvorsen, and the comments from my best friend Victoria, the book you are about to read would not be a shadow of what it has become.

I’d like to thank my best friend Victoria for sticking with me through the ups and downs, the numerous cups of tea, and the countless hours of Golden Girls marathons. Thank you for being my friend.

To my incredible partner, Salvatore, I owe the world to you. You keep pushing me, motivating me, and loving me through it all.

No matter how difficult it became, I never gave up on this story, and I am so grateful to the community that never gave up on me.

I

The Animal Court

It is because we are brothers that we are enemies.

1

A Good Day

Ashes and embers rained from the sky.

The once-proud manor of a noble family had been raided and razed to dust overnight.

With a scarf wrapped over his face, one of the arsonists walked over smoldering ruins in his newfound pair of boots. They fit snugly, but they were the trophy he’d claimed from the feet of a fool who chose not to join their side. He kicked a small stack of timber that crackled and clacked.

A small flash of fire expelled itself from the pile he kicked and faded as quickly as it ignited.

The sudden burst startled the rebel, and yet he moved on with a shrug. Today had been a good day. Their leader would be proud of the efforts he and his men made.

Oy, one of his lads called over to him from around a corner of a stone wall that refused to fall.

Looking back at the mess they had created, the rebel continued forward, stomping dramatically through, enjoying every crunch and crackle. With every step, he thought of their cause, of his starving family, of the watery beers that would be raised in their honor for what they had done.

Stepping out from the thick of the rubble and to the field was a pleasant relief from the heat. The bright summer’s morning was warm enough without the intensity of the smoke and ash-laden mess behind him.

He approached his group of eleven men, all smeared with soot and looking ragged from their night’s toil. The tall grass he walked through hissed in the wind, which played in their favor, pushing the smoke away from their meeting place.

What should we do with them? One of the men motioned to the gate of the manor, where five pieces of their hard work remained. He knew this was necessary, but he did not want to continue looking at what they had done.

Pulling down his scarf, the leader stared hard at the five bodies he had helped to hang. Leave ’em, he answered, spitting in their direction. Dead nobles are worth a hell of a lot more to us as a warning to others than they are rotting in the ground. Let’s go. He began to walk away quickly. He shouted back to his men over his shoulder, Maybe dead nobles will finally catch the king’s attention!

2

The Prince

It had been years since Breyton last walked the steps of his family’s home. The time away had changed him and the ancient walls of Maltoro Manor. His youngest brother, the king, had finally realized his dream of revitalizing the old halls of the royal castle by the sea. In Breyton’s absence, the castle had become a palace beyond imagining.

Breyton’s childhood memories of this place were still as bright and alive as they were four decades ago. He remembered how badly he had wanted to be king then. As the eldest, it was his birthright, something he warned his brothers of repeatedly, for one day, he would have power over everything.

What fools we were, Breyton thought with a smile, remembering those days while walking the castle’s wide halls. Until his seventeenth year, Breyton entertained every intention of assuming the throne, but maturity that spanned beyond his years changed his mind. He told his father and stepmother, the king and queen, how he wished to pursue a grander leg of education before taking the crown. However reluctantly, his father allowed him the three-year education he desired from the Northern University in the not-so-near neighboring country Viramont. There he learned much of life, a new language—the common tongue spoken widely throughout the world—and gained a great perspective of international relations. After completing his education, Breyton found himself on the long ship ride back to his motherland. When the then twenty-year-old returned, he immediately requested to join the military to learn strategy for times of engagement. After emerging from eight active and structuring years of service, Breyton’s father told him that soon he would be king. However, much to the disgust and displeasure of his father, Breyton, with a spry smile and a firm look in his eyes, said, No, thank you.

Today, walking down a hall, Breyton laughed as he recalled how furious his father was when he renounced his title as heir to the throne. Many layers of dust sat atop that memory now. But after all the time and all that had come to pass for him and his country, so many things had changed.

I don’t believe my eyes, a voice called to Breyton as he walked through the corridor. I heard rumors about the three brothers coming together, but I never actually guessed I’d see you again, Lord Breyton Malle-e-us, not here at least. A tall man with a retreating hairline and a somewhat large nose emerged from the around the bend of the hall ahead.

Oh, I’ll be damned. Breyton put his hand to his head and advanced to meet the other man in the center of the walkway. Is that you, Yuri?

At your service, sir. Lord Yuri Philemon bowed dramatically to his long-lost compatriot.

I wasn’t sure, Breyton admitted after a quick embrace. You’re getting so ugly in your elder years.

Yuri laughed and nodded. The years haven’t skipped you either, Breyton. You know, you really shouldn’t let crows walk all over your face—they leave prints everywhere.

Neither man looked aged. Both were only in their early forties, and, aside from Breyton’s days in an inactive army, neither had ever worked a day of hard labor.

God, Breyton, it’s been years! Yuri exclaimed, rubbing his brow. I haven’t seen you since…well, since…

Since the funeral, yes. Breyton’s hope for congeniality slipped as he remembered the last time he was in Maltoro for his wife’s funeral. He quickly changed the subject. So, how goes local politics? Are things as bad as they’re saying? How’s that king of ours? Has my little brother found his footing in ruling yet?

Lord Philemon shrugged his broad shoulders and answered, Your guess is as good as mine. I’m not likely to receive an interview with the king any time soon. You haven’t spoken to your brother yet?

Breyton shook his head. I’ve only been here half an hour. Hasn’t Herod just returned from some trip?

Yuri bit his thin lower lip and sighed. Yes, yes, he has.

What’s happening? Breyton inquired.

With a heavy sigh, Yuri answered, "Things aren’t exactly great here, Breyton. I’m sure you’ve heard that people throughout the country are beginning to get a bit, I don’t know, restless. The king and a few of his staff traveled to Doran, Makovsa, Teybrow, and everywhere in between to try and smooth over relations, but I have no idea what their little diplomatic mission really did. Word has it that your brother mostly went from high-born house to high-born house, eating and drinking with the best of them. That he didn’t spend any time at all with the actual people."

Shaking his head, Breyton said, That doesn’t surprise me. You know… Breyton rubbed his thinly bearded chin, thinking on how to phrase the troubles on his mind. On my way here from the east, I heard several concerning matters.

Something else concerning came trotting around the corner of the hall, running toward Breyton and Yuri.

"That woman is mad! She’s mad, mad, mad!" a bulbous man with a frightened look in his eyes declared as he passed the two men.

Not a moment later, an extraordinarily lovely young lady came darting around the same corner, hollering, Come back here! I’m not through with you! She passed the gentlemen with a quick nod of her head to acknowledge their lordships.

The bulbous man dove into a room off the hall, slamming the door behind him. Everyone remaining in the passageway heard the tremendous thud of the lock on the door, yet still, the lady grasped the knob and rattled it angrily.

Oh! You blighter! She yelled through the closed aperture. Listening is not painful, you know, and perhaps if a few more of you men realized this, you wouldn’t be getting yourselves into these messes!

The scene that passed continued to play for some time, with the lady continuing to shout her ire and jiggle the doorknob. Breyton watched her. He was sure he knew her, but her exact identity was tough to pinpoint. All he could study from the angle he held was that she had light brown hair pulled in a neat braided bun and a well-shaped figure.

Who is she? Breyton quietly asked Yuri.

Lord Philemon rolled his eyes and dismissively said, That girl? You know her, Breyton—that’s Gertrude Kemenova, the prime minister’s daughter.

"That’s Absalom Kemen’s daughter? he asked incredulously. After analyzing her for another couple of moments, Breyton added, She looks nothing like him, which is a bit of a gift. I suppose I wouldn’t have recognized her unless I saw her eyes. They’re certainly a pair you never forget."

Lord Philemon nodded his head to agree. Gertrude’s eyes were unique. Her right was brown and ordinary, but her left made countless passersby crank their heads to have a second look. The young lady’s left optic was a deep cobalt blue, much like a wolf’s could be.

What do you suppose she’s up to? Breyton asked. Seems like she’s fairly involved in what’s happening around here.

Yuri closed his eyes. "A little too involved. She’s actually made her way from being a representative of the ‘working class,’ as she calls it, of the central valley to being at the king’s side half the time, advising him on who knows what. She’s got some sort of plan she’s been going on about for a little over a year now. She thinks her schemes will help stimulate the economy and calm the people a bit. To put them back to work. Yuri sighed. I can’t say I disagree with her plans, but can you believe it? A woman in the king’s court."

Breyton chuckled. Sounds like you’re jealous that she has the king’s ear.

"She has something of the king’s," Yuri mumbled.

The woman they spoke of bashed the sides of her fists against the door. Then she turned and slid her back down the wall. She melted to the floor as if chains were pulling her down.

I think advice is needed, Breyton observed.

Huh, good luck, Yuri scoffed, patting his friend on the shoulder. That’s the most stubborn ass you’ll ever tackle.

Breyton laughed and said, It’ll be just like talking to myself then, hmm?

3

Gertrude and the King

Gertrude looked up to the approaching gentleman. He looked familiar to her, but she bit her lip to restrain herself from saying anything. It was not in their culture’s custom for the woman to ask a question before the man initiated the conversation with a cordial hello. She did not care for the tradition. It detracted so much time from what could otherwise be a quick dialogue.

However, her spirit lightened as Breyton said, You know, civility is the grease that keeps this world flowing.

Gertrude laughed, happy to learn that he must not have cared for the custom either. She was glad to retort, Yes, sir, but it is male arrogance that gets it stuck in ruts.

Breyton shook his head and smiled to show his appreciation for her banter. His straight teeth shined charmingly at Gertrude. It was his warm smile linking those long smooth cheeks that helped her recall who he was. I remember you. You’re the eldest of the Malleus brothers, aren’t you? she asked. Prince Breyton?

Breyton nodded, relieved not to be addressed as the brother-who-cowered-from-the-throne as on so many occasions before.

Gertrude sat straighter, cleared her throat, and apologized for having failed to bow when she streaked by him earlier.

He laughed. I assure you that I do not care for the ridiculous courtly manners. Besides, you were in pursuit, he excused for her. What was that all about anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?

She shrugged as the former heir kneeled in front of her to be at her eye level. It’s complicated, she answered. But, um, the short version of it is, over the last few months, while the king and I were on a tour of the country, King Herod left the man I was chasing in charge of distributing certain orders and necessary, oh, what should I call them? Chores, in his absence? But that jackass in there, Gertrude pointed a thumb over her shoulder toward the door, failed to obey his king. I started to tell him how he could correct his idiotic behavior prior to the Gathering on Wednesday, and he refused to hear a word of it.

Breyton shrugged. But why help him if he’s just some blithering idiot? Why not just tell him to take a long walk up a wall of ice?

Burying her throbbing head in her hands, Gertrude chuckled. "Because, as wretched as this is, that man is one of the only two intelligent men of the Gatherers. Not including the king, of course. She quickly added the last bit to ensure that she would not offend the brother of said king. He at least realizes that if we don’t do something soon, we may start to see the people take more and more desperate actions."

With her hands still covering her face, a shining ring caught Breyton’s eye. Gertrude wore a university ring with a large glittering sapphire for its face. Which university did you attend? he asked, finding the jewelry to be a way to continue the conversation.

Lowering her hands, Gertrude looked at her ring. The Northern, she said, sitting up a little straighter. When I was a child, I read about people in lands beyond our own, of marvelous creatures our country lacks—dragons, fairies, and the like. I realized that because our country was so dull, I’d do everything I could to get an education elsewhere to find life myself, to learn about the world. I made it to the Northern in Viramont. I was the first female student on campus, and it was incredibly scary and empowering at the same time. She beamed a beautiful smile at him. Those were wonderful, challenging years. I’m so grateful I took the opportunity.

You know, I attended the Northern myself. He turned his hand to show her his golden university ring. I recall how dominantly the masculine sort reigned on that ancient castle’s grounds. How long were you a student there?

The standard three years for a degree in politics and negotiation, she replied. Though, the asses here seem to be deaf to my negotiation tactics.

What a daring lady, Breyton thought. How on earth did you convince your father to let you go? The prime minister was known for his horrible treatment of women.

Laughing, Gertrude could not help rolling her eyes. It was not a straightforward tale to tell. However, before she could answer, someone standing at the farthest end of the hall caught her gaze.

The man she saw strolling down the far end of the corridor stood with his hands tucked into his dark gray coat’s pockets. His warm eyes locked on the lady. His calm confidence was revitalizing to Gertrude after so long a time away. Gertrude turned her gaze quickly back to Breyton, fearing to seem rude. Forgive me for hesitating, but that’s a long story, and I’m afraid that I have another place to be right now. Gertrude started to stand clumsily, burdened by the weight of her dress.

Being a gentleman, Breyton offered his hand to help the lady from the floor. As she stood, unnoticed by Breyton, she gave a subtle nod to the black-haired man at the end of the hall.

He nodded and left the passageway.

Well, Miss Kemenova, it was delightful talking to you, and I would certainly like to hear the story sometime. Breyton wanted to talk to her again about anything as soon as possible.

Busy with the task of straightening out her long and heavy skirt, Gertrude did not pick up on his flirtatious tone, and yet she did not bypass his statement altogether. Oh, of course, but for future reference, Your Highness, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please refrain from addressing me as Kemenova? I try very hard to separate myself from the prime minister’s name. It was proper to address unmarried women by their father’s surname with the addition of ova, meaning daughter of. Daughters held the honor of ova until they were married and assumed the names of their husbands. For Gertrude, keeping her father’s name legacy was anything but an honor.

That’s understandable, Breyton acknowledged. Oh, and to you, too, Gertrude, please don’t call me ‘highness.’ I abandoned that course eons ago.

Gertrude nodded. She thought, He is so different from his brothers, who flaunt their royalty without hesitation or shame. For a moment, Gertrude considered commenting on this, but she did have somewhere to be.

Breyton was sorry to see her leave but was determined to be in her company again.

Gertrude rushed off down the hall in the opposite direction of the mystery man. She had a meeting to spy on for the king.

~*~*~

As a child, Gertrude had spent as much time in Maltoro as she did at home. The prime minister’s children were not allowed to play outdoors while at Maltoro, so with the company of her two brothers, Gertrude had explored the halls, towers, and stairwells of the castle. In her childhood wanderings, she found every nook and secret passageway Maltoro possessed. As an adult, she utilized the passages in the walls to save time in travel. Through a door behind an artisan tapestry, Gertrude snuck into a stairwell, which led straight to her intended destination: the king’s study.

Down the dark, musty stairs, Gertrude went until finally, the path leveled to a short, dead-end hall. A two-way mirror allowed her to see what was happening in the room without its occupants seeing her. Inside, she saw the king with one man as his company.

Seeing the king’s guest made her skin crawl. How is that dirty brute Igor Mislov still in charge of your King’s Guard?

She decided to focus on Herod to push away her discomfort with the other man. The king in his mid-thirties was one for catching the eyes and attention of every soul around him. His bright blue eyes, much like Breyton’s, his crown of golden hair with dark brown roots, his small, pointy goatee, and his tight-fitting robes of lilac made him a fashionable king. Though looked down upon by his male comrades, the power of his crown brought them, along with the ladies, running to his side.

Gertrude was not impressed by Herod’s clothes, gold, or crown. So what if he had a charming smile and presided over the country? There was an arrogant air about him. Gertrude did not like the way he strutted around like a peacock in front of others. However, there was another side of Herod that Gertrude admired. He treated her differently from the others. While he addressed the multitude with a high-strung, snobbish contempt, Herod spoke to Gertrude as though she were equal to his self-proclaimed godlike qualities, better even.

Herod adored her. He was impressed by her intelligence and drawn to her ability to shrug off any advance he made to woo her. Peacock that he was, his brilliant colors could not impress her. The last few months for her had been a challenge traveling with a man who admired her, but, at the same time, did not respect her enough to act upon her advice.

We’re seeing far more cases of theft in the city, Igor said. He tilted his head up as he spoke so not to drool on himself through the scarred-over tear in his lower lip. Bakeries mostly, but also breweries and a few attempts on banks as well.

As she listened, Gertrude shook her head. I can’t remember how many times we heard this on our tour of the country, she mournfully reflected. The people are starving, and they’re getting desperate.

We’re making examples of the thieves throughout the city, Igor continued. He shook his head. Though, I don’t think that displaying them in shackles in the squares is enough anymore, Your Majesty. We must take a stronger stance to deter any more malicious activity. How would you like us to proceed, Sire? The bear of a man wiped the drool that ran from his deformed lower lip. Though he thought nothing of it, Gertrude could do nothing but stare at the scar she’d left on his lip whenever he was around.

The king sank slowly into a chair behind his desk. After a moment, he said, Well, there’s certainly enough rope and swords in the world to teach the peasants a lesson or two.

Igor nodded, thrilled to know that the king approved of his methodology.

The meeting adjourned, but Gertrude remained in the cleavage of the wall for several minutes, hoping to calm her building temper with deep breaths.

Eventually, she pulled on a horn protruding from the wall, producing a loud click. The secret door into the king’s room creaked open, and she squeezed through. The king was mildly startled by her unexpected entrance from behind his very own life-sized and heavily framed portrait. He rolled his eyes and grabbed his heart. Good lord, Gertrude! Why can’t you use a door like the rest of society?

She shut her eyes and kept herself from saying Because you asked me to spy on the meeting. Instead, she focused on closing the portrait door. She stared at it for a second, wondering how the starving people in the city would react to the king’s painting with King Herod himself depicted as holding a bejeweled sword and his shoulders draped in a gold-stitched and fur-lined cape.

Oh, Your Majesty, you know me, she eventually said as she sat in one of the chairs facing the desk where Herod stood. I like to do things differently.

With a cock of his head, the king said calmly, I see you’ve changed your outfit since we arrived.

Inhaling deeply, Gertrude ignored his comment and changed the subject. You know, Your Majesty, that route, so to speak, toward violence needn’t be administered on so broad a scale as Lord Mislov suggests.

The king rolled his eyes and sat in the chair behind his desk. Do you ever think of anything other than politics, Gertrude? Are you even capable of doing such? The king had hoped to have a sliver of what he deemed a normal conversation with her before their scheduled meeting.

Though the king meant well, Gertrude could not help but feel small. As sad as it was, politics were her life. She’d never learned how to perform normal lady things. She could, undoubtedly, run a manor as was expected of a lady, for governing a house was much like governing a country or Council, the only difference being that there was less land to fret over. Revolutions were just as much a threat to a lady of the house as they were for a king.

Finding no need to respond to the question, Gertrude looked around the room, puzzled to find that the king’s loyal bodyguard was missing. Where’s Aleksie? she asked.

Herod dismissed the topic. That’s of no matter. While you have my time, I suggest we use it wisely. Gertrude, you, hmm, I trust you’ve already spoken to Lord Gibbet about the Council Gathering?

Displeased that the king remembered to inquire about that subject, Gertrude had a momentary flashback of her chasing the man down the hall. Umm…well… Gertrude’s tone told the king all he needed to know.

Herod sighed and exhaustedly uttered, How in God’s name am I supposed to be king if those who are most loyal to me can’t even do the simple things I ask of them?

Gertrude leaned forward in her chair and sternly said, Your Majesty, the next few months will be the determining chapters of your crown. To deal with the rumored rebellions brewing amongst the people, you must first take control of the upper classes. Even the noblest of nobles around here could gain from a lesson of respect from you. The last few months had proven to her that the king wanted nothing to do with the lower classes. The plan she had been working on for months to modernize their nation and give hope to the underclasses, had been relatively ignored by Herod.

Maybe appealing to his vanity and about a class that he understands will be the way to make him listen, she theorized.

The king mulled over what Gertrude suggested only to realize that he required more clarity. How do you mean?

I’ll take this. This feels like progress, she thought.

Gertrude answered, Your Majesty, if you show your court that you will not tolerate error from them, then word of your strength will trickle down through the pyramid. Eventually, even the lowliest of your people will know of how strong you are and that you are not dependent on the outdated counsel from the damn Gatherers…if you’ll forgive my tongue, Your Majesty.

He glared straight into her mismatched eyes. "Gertrude, I have to ask you something. Are your curses against the Gatherings targeted at what you consider to be their bad taste in politics or simply your, hmm, how should I say it, domestic reasons?"

Gertrude crossed her arms and pursed her lips. She knew exactly what he was implying. "Sire, the situation with my father being prime minister has nothing to do with my direct ambition of convincing you to disband the Gatherers. Rich men decades past their prime living in castles leagues away from the territories they are supposed